


It is true love because / I put on eyeliner

by Kiraly



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Flash Fic, Friendship/Love, Introspection, M/M, Poetry, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 14:31:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10766163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiraly/pseuds/Kiraly
Summary: They aren't quite sure how this "friendship" thing works, but they're trying it anyway. Eventually, it develops into something more.





	It is true love because / I put on eyeliner

**Author's Note:**

> I started this for last week's Synchronised Screaming Flash Fic challenge, but I didn't really finish it on time. Oh well! Here it is anyway. The theme was lines of poetry, and the prompt I chose was:  
>  **Otabek/Yuri: It is true love because / I put on eyeliner**
> 
> I liked those lines a lot, so I decided to incorporate some little bits of poetry in between each scene. Hopefully it works for everyone! Also, in case it isn't clear, the later sections in the story take place down the road as they've been friends for a while.

 

_ It is true love because _

_ I walked out of the shadows _

_ to bask in your light _

 

Otabek was never sure what made him stop that day in Barcelona. He’d been trying to get away from it all: the knots of fans stalking their favorite skaters, the skaters themselves posturing, the reporters lying in wait with their cameras and questions. Once he got free of all that, there was no reason for him to draw any attention to himself before the competition started. It should have been a relaxing ride around the city, a few hours to himself.

Instead, he found himself at the end of an alley, telling Yuri Plisetsky to hop on the back of his motorcycle and speeding away in full sight of Yuri's fans. Not at all low-profile. 

"Why did you do it?" Yuri asked, later. If he was completely honest, Otabek wasn't sure. All he knew was that the Russian skater had lingered at the fringes of his awareness for years, ever since the summer in Moscow. They'd never spoken, and Otabek had know even then that Yuri Plisetsky was not someone to approach lightly. He was a comet, burning brightly enough to reduce anyone in his path to cinders. If someone managed to get close without turning to ash, they'd be caught in Yuri's gravity.

Off the ice, Otabek didn't much care for the spotlight. But as they sped away from the crowd of fans, when he told Yuri about their shared history, and again when they talked over nothing much in the cafe, he couldn't bring himself to worry about that. If standing in the sun meant he could become friends with Yuri Plisetsky, it would be worth it.

* * *

 

_ I put on eyeliner _

_ to make pools of my eyes _

_ deep enough _

_ to drown you  _

 

Yuri leaned against the wall, shivering as the cold stone leached the heat from his back. In hindsight, it might not have been the best idea to follow Otabek to this club, knowing full well he wasn’t old enough to get in and didn’t  _ look  _ old enough, either. But the music blaring through the open door made his blood sing, the same relentless beat he’d been riding ever since he stepped off the ice.  _ Gold. I won gold at the fucking Grand Prix Final!  _ He should have been in there dancing. 

The more practical part of him, the one he usually ignored, insisted that he  _ should  _ have been back in the hotel, sleeping. There was still the gala tomorrow, and if he wanted to put on an exhibition skate worthy of the medal around his neck, he should rest. But the exhibition skate was part of what had brought him  here.

_ I can’t skate the same old program. I want something new.  _ His usual program would only remind everyone that his free skate hadn’t been perfect, and he wasn’t about to show them less than perfection. Even if it meant standing out in the cold half the night waiting for inspiration to strike.

As it happened, luck struck instead. A crowd of rowdy customers exited the bar, jostling past Yuri and heckling the bouncer. The man was distracted making sure they all actually left, and Yuri slipped past him in the confusion. Inside, the music was even louder, vibrating right down to Yuri’s bones. He pushed his way through the crowd in search of Otabek. 

When Yuri found him, his mouth dropped open in surprise.  _ He’s the fucking DJ? What the HELL?  _ He stormed over to the booth, ready to deliver a lecture on secrets and  _ holding out on your fucking friends,  _ but Otabek looked up and saw him first.

“You’re not supposed to be here!” Otabek said, frowning. He made a few adjustments to his controller, then pulled his headphones off. “Yuri, I told you—”

“Fuck off! You  _ didn’t _ tell me you were a  _ fucking musical genius _ , so we’re even. This is good shit!” Yuri slammed his fist on the booth for emphasis. Otabek winced. Then his mouth twitched into a smile.

“You like it, then? It’s not exactly the kind of music you skate to.”

Yuri rolled his eyes. “It’s not what you skate to, either. I didn’t pick my songs anyway. If I had, they’d be—” Something like this, he realized. “Otabek.”

“Yes?” He got up from the booth, waving for the next DJ to come take his place. 

“You were serious about this ‘friend’ thing, right?” He’d fucking better be.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t,” Otabek said.

The thumping bass of Yuri’s heart crescendoed. “Good, because I’m making a new exhibition skate for tomorrow, and you’re going to pick the song.”

* * *

 

_ I put on eyeliner _

_ kohl-rimmed lids to mask the sun. _

_ Your gaze _

_ burned me anyway  _

 

“Show me the first one again.” Yuri’s voice sounded tinny through the laptop speakers. Otabek sighed and sat on the bed instead.

“You already saw it twice, Yura. It’s not going to look any different.” Skype probably wasn’t the best way to show off his costumes for the upcoming season anyway, but Yuri had asked, and it wasn’t like he could see them in person. They both had too much to do before the season started. But friendship over skype and texts and twitter was better than not talking at all. Even on the nights when Yuri got hold of an idea and wouldn’t let it go.

“I know, but it’s just...it needs something. Don’t you think?” Yuri frowned at him and leaned closer to the screen. Easy for him to say—he was dressed in a hoodie two sizes too big and a pair of tiger-print leggings, and somehow still managed to look fierce. By comparison, the crisp white shirt and black pants of Otabek's costume looked stiff and plain.

"It's supposed to be subtle, Yura," he said. 

"Subtle, sure," Yuri said. "That doesn't mean it has to be boring. The belt helps," he waved a finger to indicate the silver-studded black band around Otabek's waist, "but it needs something else." He snapped his fingers and sat up suddenly. "Makeup!"

"What?" 

Yuri grinned into the webcam. "You heard me. Throw some eyeliner on, I want to see what it looks like with that."

"I can't just 'throw some eyeliner on', Yura," Otabek said.

"Sure you can. Wipe it off before you go to sleep, it's not like anyone's going to come barging into your apartment and—"

"I can't put eyeliner on," Otabek said, "Because I don't have any. And also I have no idea how to apply it."

"Are you shitting me?" Yuri's video turned into a blurry mess; he'd knocked his laptop over in his agitation. "How can you not have eyeliner? It's an essential part of a skater's makeup kit." He righted his computer and upended a box of makeup on his bed. "I have so fucking much of it, Beka. If you were here, I'd..." he trailed off.

"I...don't usually wear it. Not unless my costume requires it, and when that happens someone else usually does it for me." Otabek sighed. "And...yeah. If you were here, I'm sure your eyeliner could fix everything that's boring about this costume."

Yuri snorted. "Shut up." But he looked pleased. "Next time we have a competition together, I'm taking you to buy some. It's ridiculous that you don't have any." He pillowed his head on his arms.

"Sure," Otabek smiled. "As long as you show me how to use it, too. I wasn't kidding about being hopeless."

"I'll send you some youtube tutorials," Yuri said, yawning. "Seriously, Beka. Eyeliner. It'll change your fucking life."

It couldn't change him more than Yuri already had. But that was a conversation for another time.

* * *

 

_ It is true love because _

_ I stand a step beside,  _

_ a step below you _

_ and smile _

 

The crowd roared. Yuri's breath rose and fell with the cheering. He was still hyped up on adrenaline, and the gaze of the world on him only amped him up more. The attention wasn't all on him, though. The silver glinting on his neck set him off to the side. For once, though, the thought didn't completely enrage him.

"That was fucking amazing, Beka," he muttered. Otabek must have heard him even through the crowd noise, because he reached for Yuri's hand and held it aloft.

"So were you."

It was too loud to say more, and the podium was no place for a conversation. They posed for pictures—Otabek kept Yuri's hand in his, and Yuri tried hard not to read too much into it.  _ It's a friend thing. A sportsmanship thing. He's holding Phichit's hand too, it's no big deal. _ But it was hard not to imagine there was more to it. He'd never had a friend like Otabek, someone he could talk to about anything. Hell, he'd never  _ wanted  _ to tell most people the things he told Otabek. And he certainly didn't know anyone else who could take gold ahead of him and elicit any reaction other than rage.

_ Of course I wanted gold. I'm a champion figure skater, I always want gold. But dammit, Beka fucking deserved it this time.  _ He'd skated a perfect program, and it was so beautiful he'd had half the audience weeping. Yuri knew when he was beat.

After the chaos died down and he'd managed to get away from the reporters—even if he only placed second, they still pestered him with questions that he'd answered a million times before—Yuri went looking for Otabek. He wasn't in the crowd or in the locker room, so Yuri widened his search. Eventually he resorted to his phone.  _ where the fuck are u?  _ He pressed 'send' without much hope. Otabek wasn't the best at responding to texts during competitions. 

To his surprise, he got a reply almost immediately.

_ Otabek: Hiding out in the parking lot. Going back to the hotel soon. _

_ Yuri: telling ur bike how much ass u kicked? _

_ Yuri: cuz u did _

_ Yuri: kick ass _

_ Otabek: Thanks _

_ Yuri: anyway i guess ill see u at the hotel? _

_ Otabek: Unless you want to ride back with me? _

_ Yuri: fuck yeah _

_ Yuri: hang on  _

It took Yuri ten minutes to get free of the crush of people, and another ten to find Otabek in the crowded lot. He took the offered helmet and settled behind Otabek without a word; by now, they’d done this enough times that there was no need to talk. But there  _ was  _ something Yuri wanted to say. He spent the ride thinking about it, cheek pressed against Otabek’s back and arms wrapped tightly around him. When they arrived at the hotel, he didn’t let go right away.

“Yura? We’re here.”

“I know.” He relaxed his grip, but made no move to get off the bike. “You were fucking incredible today, Beka.” 

“Yeah?” Otabek released the handlebars and leaned back into Yuri’s embrace. One of his hands rose to cover Yuri’s.

“Yeah.” The rest of what he wanted to say stuck on his tongue. It was stupid; they were just words. It shouldn’t be so hard to say what he meant, not when he pushed his body to its limits in every other way.

"You earned that gold." Truth, but not the truth he meant to tell. "I won't go so easy on you next time, though." He let go and swung his leg over the motorcycle.  _ Dammit. Why can't I just say it?  _

Otabek followed him toward the hotel, shaking his head. "I wouldn't expect you to, Yura." If he guessed at the things Yuri didn't say, he gave no sign.

* * *

 

_ It is true love because _

_ we fit puzzle-pieced together. _

_ you let down your hair, _

_ take up my music; _

_ I take your calls _

_ and put on eyeliner  _

 

A knock sounded on the door to Otabek's hotel room. He rolled off the bed, groaning a little as his sore muscles protested. He'd need to stretch again before bed, if he didn't want to be in hell for the gala tomorrow.

"Yura?" Honestly, he shouldn’t have expected it to be anyone else. Yuri was the only one who knocked in that particular demanding way. And none of the other skaters or coaches would be visiting him at this hour. "It's late. I thought you were going to bed."

"Couldn't sleep," Yuri said, scuffing his foot on the carpet. Normally he'd have pushed past Otabek by now, entering the room like he owned it and flopping onto the bed. But now he hovered in the doorway as though waiting to be invited in.

"Want to watch the rest of this movie with me?" Otabek offered. He stepped back so Yuri could enter, and sat on the edge of the bed when it became clear Yuri wasn't going to take it over like he usually did. "I haven't been paying much attention to it, but it might help your mind calm down." Insomnia was a constant companion for Yuri. By now Otabek had been through plenty of late-night phone calls and woken up to rambling texts that came through while he was asleep. It was kind of nice, having a chance to help Yuri through it in person for once.

"Yeah." Yuri stepped closer. "Wait. No. I mean...shit." He kicked at the leg of the bed. "I want to talk to you." 

Otabek gave him a long look. There was something different tonight. Yuri seemed tense, far more than usual. "Okay. Let's talk." He fumbled for the remote to pause the movie. Yuri paced circles in the carpet. "Yura. Come sit. You're making me nervous. Whatever it is, it can't be that bad, can it?"

Yuri stopped then, turning to pierce Otabek  with a glare. "Yes, it can. I could fuck everything up, don't you understand? I don't want to ruin things, but...fuck."

"Yura—"

"I'm not good at this, okay? This is stupid, I should—"

"Yura. I can't understand if you won't  _ tell me _ ." His voice rose with the last words.

And then Yuri was flinging himself on the bed, half sprawled on the mattress and half draped over Otabek. "Beka. Shit, Beka, I'm sorry, I—"

"Yura. Calm down. It's okay—"

"It's not," Yuri said, placing his hands on Otabek's shoulders, "It's not okay. I'm a mess, you know that? I win fucking GOLD MEDALS and I think 'oh, okay, I need to do better so I can win more', but then you go and win one and I think 'well damn, this is awesome'. Do you get it now?"

Otabek blinked. "Um. No? Yura, you already congratulated me. I appreciate it, really. But I don't understand what you're saying now." He brushed Yuri's hair out of his eyes. "Whatever it is, you can just tell me. We're friends. I care about you, I'll understand."

"But that's just it, we're friends and I care about YOU and that's why this sucks so much!" Yuri looked away. "Shit. Beka, I love you, okay? I love you, and now I'm going to ruin everything but I don't even care—" and then he kissed Otabek on the mouth, pushing him back onto the mattress with the force of it.

After a long moment, Otabek laughed against Yuri's mouth.

"What?" Yuri growled. He pushed up and away, scrambling backwards. "I TOLD you I was going to ruin everything! Sorry I fucked it all up, but that's what you get for being friends with me. I'll just go and—"

Otabek sat up. "Yura, honestly." He reached forward to catch Yuri's arm before he could move farther away. "How could you think  _ that  _ would ruin things?" As though he hadn't wanted this for  _ ages.  _ He'd thought—he'd  _ hoped  _ that Yuri might feel the same way, eventually. He hadn't expected the kiss, but now that it had happened—

"Come here, Yura. Please." He tugged Yuri close. Yuri's eyes were wide and startled as Otabek raised a hand to cup his chin. "Nothing is ruined." This time he was the one to kiss Yuri, slow and soft and careful lest he scare him away. "Nothing at all."

There was more to talk about, and more kisses in between words. They ended up falling asleep that way, tangled together on Otabek's bed. 

* * *

 

_ I put on eyeliner _

_ glitter, sequins, leather _

_ to impress you. _

_ You said _

_ I was impressive anyway, _

_ even without it, _

_ because _

_ it is true love  _

 

“I probably look like a mess,” Yuri murmured. He was awake enough to start noticing the little things that would probably bother him when he’d had some coffee: the sour taste in his mouth, the slept-in feeling of his clothes, the knots in his hair. But he was still sleepy enough that he didn’t protest when Otabek wrapped an arm around him to keep him from going anywhere.

“You look fine,” Otabek said.  _ He  _ looked amazing, of course. His hair was tousled from sleep, and his eyes—

Yuri leaned closer. “Beka. Are you wearing eyeliner?”

A tiny smile. “Maybe. Why, is it smudged all over the place? I meant to wash it off but I got distracted.”

It  _ was  _ smudged, a little, but that only served to make him hotter. “It’s fine.” Yuri pillowed his head on Otabek’s chest—and nevermind that he was probably smearing his own makeup all over his shirt—and closed his eyes. “Told you it was awesome, didn’t I?”

A laugh rumbled through Otabek’s chest. “You sure did. If this is what happens when I wear it, I guess I’ll have to do it more often.”


End file.
